Apathy in Disguise
by moonlightBuffy
Summary: Paul/Echo, Alpha/Echo He didn't just want to find the Dollhouse. He wanted to destroy it. Written after 1x06.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters, or anything like that. I just play around with the characters.  
**Notes:** I wrote this late at night after 1x06 aired so I'm pretty confident that there are some mistakes in terms of misspelling and so on, but I hope you'll enjoy it nevertheless. I think it's a really fun story to write and I hope you'll like to read it. I haven't read any spoilers for the show so this is basically just my imagination playing around.

* * *

Every man is driven by desire. Some dark little secret in the back of their mind that they either want to atone for or something that they strive to accomplish. Desire is behind every great man, for great men do not only seek to gratify their passions but to bring that fantasy to reality. Their existence is defined by that seemingly simple transition between theory and practice.

Or at least that was what Paul Ballard was led to believe.

Caroline wasn't the primary desire, his motivation for hunting it down, as the mogul thought. No, his motivation, his desire, came from the darkest part of his soul. A black, burning flame of hatred. He didn't just want to _find_ the Dollhouse. He wanted to destroy it.

After leaving Mellie's, after walking across the hall to his own door, he closed the door behind him and his place of solace closed in around him. Even if he turned on the lights, the place still seemed hollow but that didn't matter. He wanted it that way. In a moment of desperation (and mostly because Mellie had begun to wonder) he had filled his bookshelves with books and his fridge with food, but he had never read any of them. And the food was often left untouched until the expiration date had passed. He had a goal. One. When he had realized that, the rest of it just seemed pointless. He knew what he had to do and it didn't involve reading books.

He drops his keys on the table.

_20._

There were twenty Dollhouses all over the world. Twenty. Even if he managed to get this one, there were still nineteen more to go. The destruction of one would be nothing. If he had kept to the path he had planned, his whole life's work wouldn't have been nothing more than a little punch in the gut. The Dollhouse would recover, survive and see another day.

But still, he couldn't get the nagging sensation out of his head that he had made a mistake. Maybe, the seemingly elaborate plot to communicate with him had been nothing more than a way for the Dollhouse to render him harmless. Maybe he had just put himself on the bench for the rest of his life. All for nothing.

But someone had sent him that tape. Someone had pointed him towards Caroline. And sending him a message with the very same girl seemed to be a little bit more than a coincidence. If the Dollhouse had wanted to keep him in the dark, they couldn't have been the ones sending the tape and the picture, so there had to be someone else out there. Someone with the same goal as himself. Someone else who wanted to see the Dollhouse destroyed.

Paul undid his tie, throwing it on a chair and let the rest follow with it. As he undressed, his mind began to work overtime in a way it hadn't done for years. Just after the initial contact with his ally, he had been focused on getting from A to B, to be discharged from the FBI and make sure that Mellie was okay. Now when he was left alone with no clear direction of what to do next, thoughts exploded and ran wild. He kept seeing Caroline's face - first as the mogul's long-lost wife, then when she was sent to kill him and third, he saw the face of the happy, hopeful college student who sent a video to her family. He had never had a name before to attach to the organization - never a face of a living victim to motivate him further. Somehow, getting that made him feel saner. Now it definitely hadn't been a fruitless pursuit. He was getting attention - so much that they sent a doll out to kill him - and that was good. Attention meant that he was getting to them. That he was one step closer.

He just had to change his tactics a little bit.

Paul got into bed but he didn't sleep for hours. Like most nights, the word _Dollhouse_ echoed in his head like a mad man's mantra. But he didn't care, that was what kept him going.

---------------

He doesn't see her again. Not for months. Then, suddenly, she's there.

She doesn't look the same as last time, but then again he knows that this woman has many faces. He wonders what he should call her this time. Mary-Ann? Caitlin? Was there even a point in wondering?

At first he expects her to disappear, like she was merely a figment of his imagination, a trick of his overactive mind, but when he opens his eyes again, she's still there. Marveled, he approaches slowly, putting one foot in front of the other, scared that she will disappear like a wounded animal if he gets too close. But she doesn't. She sees him; she watches him as he moves closer and doesn't run away.

Paul decides to take a risk and glances to his side, trying to see if there's anyone with her. To see if there's any security around that he should be worried about. But from as far as he can see, they are alone.

But with the Dollhouse, you can never be sure.

"... Hi," he says hesitantly, not sure that he believes his own luck. Because it isn't luck. There's just no chance. Dolls don't just appear from nowhere, especially not _this_ doll. He reaches out his hand and flinches when she grabs it.

"Hi, I'm Michelle," she says so simply as though it's true. But Paul knows better. She doesn't. "I'm so sorry I'm late but my car got a flat tire and-" her tale is told quickly and the vivid gaze and occasional hand gesture tells him that she's experienced it. At least that's her programming. He's so captivated that he doesn't remember to remove his hand until hers disappear.

"It's okay. There's no need to explain. I, er... didn't mind waiting," it was so bizarre how it was both a truth and an act. He had to assume that she would tell him what he needed to know eventually. All he had to do was stick to the script.

After all, you never know who is watching.

They take a seat in the far-back corner where it is as dark as possible and even though he knows he shouldn't, Paul gets an idea how it is for the clients. The seedy, low-life scum who pay to have women as their slaves, escorts or whores. The realization of that wakes him up a little and once again he sees the smiling girl in the video, the girl whose freedom was robbed from her. The worst thing about it is that she doesn't even know.

"What was it that you wanted to tell me?" 'Michelle' suddenly asks.

"Huh?"

"You wanted to tell me something?" she clarifies, "About what you're looking for?" Her eyes search deep in his for some confirmation that he knows what she's talking about but Paul can't understand what she's talking about. "Did you find it?"

There's a silence hanging in the air between them. A moment where he tries to understand. He doesn't. "... No. No, I didn't find what I was looking for." _I'm waiting for you to tell me._

Suddenly a brave smile flashes over Michelle's - Caroline's - face and before he reacts, she takes his hand with hers and holds it, her thumb stroking his knuckles. "You shouldn't give up," she tells him, sincerely and even though he's not sure if what she's saying is a code or a truth, he takes it as the latter. But regardless, it was bizarre. "The truth will make itself known."

Paul sighs. He isn't a believer of fate. He doesn't believe the best in people - at least not any more. There were extremely few exceptions - so few that he could count them on his one hand. People are cruel, ruthless monsters and most of the truths out there would never be known. "Not as long as there are people out there who hide it," he replies almost bitterly, looking down for a moment at their connected hands.

"You shouldn't give up, Paul," she says suddenly in a different tone and Paul knows this is the change he had been waiting for. "I will help you find it. But you have to be patient. These people won't be dealt with in a month. This is going to take time."

"I know all about patience," Paul whispers as he leans in closer to avoid being heard, "I've been on this case for years!"

"And now you're as close as you've ever been in years," his informant says, "You should be grateful." If he didn't know better, he'd say that his mole was rather arrogant. If that was even him talking.

"You know, I must say I find this rather disturbing. Can't we talk face to face or something instead of... going through her?"

Michelle grins. "As I said, Paul, you must be patient. Good things come to those who wait."

"And that's what you want me to do now? Wait? Why did you even bother to come and tell me that now? Couldn't you have just sent it in an e-mail like normal people?"

"As I said, _patience_," Michelle's grew firmer, "You cannot be contacted in person because you're under surveillance by them. Apparently they know you a little better than you think. So this is the only way."

Paul frowned. "If I'm under surveillance, isn't this a little risky?"

"No," the messenger says firmly, "An order was placed for this active to be sent to a man who was to given the date of his life and as long as you stick according to schedule, the people watching this body will never know it's you."

"How do you know?"

"That's the rules. Never be seen. Never interfere, unless the circumstances turn... desperate. As long as you make sure nothing stands out, no one will be any wiser."

"Okay? So what do I need to do now?"

"You're on a date," the messenger says, "You should act like it." A small grin travels over the face.

Paul sighs and leans his head against his hand. Yes, this was definitely wrong on so many levels. And freaky.

"Oh," the messenger suddenly says, "Before you do that - you're going to get a package. Don't open it at home, go to a public restroom where there are no cameras and follow the instructions in it."

Then, she changes. Not dramatically, and not suddenly, but more like the programming moved on to its next protocol. To think that there was actually a human being inside, someone who had once been like him with a free thought and will, was inconceivable. But when she begins talking about hope, love and loss and as that warm look in her eye returns, Paul gradually begins to relax and see her a little bit less like a vessel for his cause, even if the thought never completely disappears. When he occasionally reminds himself that the person across from him is actually a person, it angers him even further, even if he doesn't quite believe it.

------------

They sit there for hours, talking. Eventually, Paul forgets what Michelle really is, or at least it temporarily slips his mind as he sees her act like any other normal girl would, even though he knows that she's special. He sees it more clearly now because even though she is programmed to be normal, there is something about her that can never be completely washed off. A small piece of the puzzle that the programming cannot alter. He'd seen it in the video, in the news broadcast and he could see it now. That small little ghost that had been Caroline. A small little feeling that he could never pinpoint or describe.

But whatever it is, the more he sees it, the more relaxed he becomes.

"... and I've always known how to take care of myself."

"Oh, really?" Paul says, taking a bottle of beer to his lips, smiling a little.

"Yeah, of course. I'm a big girl. Besides, I have three brothers."

For now, he believes the lie.

------------

They walk back together to his apartment, but before they walk into his building, Paul halters. He turns to look at Michelle - at the girl who he had spent the last five hours talking to - the girl who had three protective brothers and whose biggest dream was to become a pilot even if she was afraid of heights in general.

"This is my stop," he says, pointing to the building, smiling mostly to try and relieve some of his own awkwardness. He has always been rubbish when it comes to dates - even the fake ones - and even if he knows that this isn't real, the girl in front of him doesn't believe that it's fake. For her it is real - so on some level it is anyway. It isn't like they are two actors pretending. It is just like there's one.

"Oh," Michelle pauses for a bit, holding her breath as though she wants to say something more. "You're not going to invite me in?"

Despite himself, Paul can't help but blush. "Er, no. Unfortunately, I've got a... an early day tomorrow and my neighbor's dog..." he trails off, not really sure what he is getting at. He just throws out the first excuses that he can think of.

"That's still not a reason not to invite me in," Michelle says with a playful smile, "Can't I just come in while I wait for my cab?"

Paul pauses. That had to be the people coming to collect her. Or regardless of that, if he did invit her in, then the people watching _him_ would know that she was here, talking to him. It wouldn't be safe. And definitely not smart.

"I'm sorry. I... can't let you inside. The place is a mess."

Michelle nods, disappointed. "I see." But then she leans forward and before he knows it, tiptoes a little, she puts her hand on his neck and pulls him into a kiss.

Never been a man for surprises, Paul's automatic reaction is to pull back but the petite woman is surprisingly strong and keeps him as he is until he relaxes. Her lips weren't soft, but they weren't rough either. Unlike the evening he'd had, the kiss felt very real. For a moment, he lets himself feel the sensation before he pulls away. When her lips disappear, it's as though the illusion crashes and he's left wide-awake.

"I had a lovely time," Michelle says, looking up at him, "Call me sometime, ok?"

Before he replies, Michelle walks away, her frame disappearing in the distance as she searches for a cell phone in her pocket. Paul watches Caroline go and he's not sure what to make of it all.

When he gets home, there's a package waiting for him at the door.

--------------

He's seen her so many times now. In so many guises and in so many different shapes. They had been doing this for years. His strange, mysterious ally keeping himself in the dark and sending messages to him through different agents and sometimes her. But now it's been weeks, months since he'd last seen Caroline. And as soon as his eyes find her, he feels calmer. She isn't there to see him now - she doesn't even know who he is or that he's there. She's on a mission, programmed to be the best friend to a girl in a wheelchair. To be honest, he isn't even supposed to be looking at her but for a moment, he can't help himself. He isn't in love with her - how can he be? - but there's something captivating him whenever he sees her. She seems familiar somehow.

He's supposed to be looking for evidence. He's supposed to be seeing something. A pattern. According to his ally, who he has never met so far, they were getting close, which meant that the security detail following 'the active' (as his source sometimes referred Caroline as) had been maximized to reduce the chances of complications during 'the assignment'. And that's when he saw the suits, the regular-looking people who spent a little too much time focusing on the girl. Whoever his source was, he spoke their language. The security detail had not only been multiplied, but the more he scanned the scene, the more agents of the organization he seemed to spot. Or maybe he was finally getting paranoid? Paul grinned behind the newspaper he was holding.

But regardless, the knowledge that soon Dollhouse would be torn down from its very foundation, made him feel sickeningly calm. That dark burning flame inside his soul rallied in appreciation of the very notion of a non-existent Dollhouse. His eyes found Caroline again but not even that could put the pure hatred he had for the organization at bay. The flame he used to be able to control was slowly turning into a fire.

--------

The keys jingled as he turned it inside the lock. With a simple click, the door opened. Taking the key out and putting it back in his pocket, he walked inside the apartment. It was pitch-black with nothing except the dark blue light emanating from his windows to shed some light, but even if he couldn't distinguish a thing in the darkness he could sense a _presence_ in the room. Something was wrong. Someone was there.

He reached for his gun but a voice stopped him.

"You won't be needing that."

He didn't know the voice but at this point he had grown used to trusting foreign voices even if it involved some... risk. Silently, he let go of the handle of his gun, letting it rest in its holster. He turned around and closed the door behind him, momentarily surrendering himself to the complete blackness.

"What do you want?" His voice was tense and hesitant, but he wasn't afraid. If whoever it was wanted him dead, he would be right now. But he wasn't. And in his book, that was a promising sign.

His fingers found the switch and within a second, the entire room flooded with light. Taking a second to get used to the light, Paul turned around, seeing a red-headed man with a lean face and sharp features. He was well-trained as his muscles were clearly visible underneath his shirt and as Paul studied his eyes, something dark and terrifying rested inside him. A darkness that matched his own, only much more terrifying. And he was a man that didn't scare easily.

"Who are you?" Paul asked, dreading the answer.

The man doesn't smile but there's something playful flickering in his gaze. "Seems like I forgot my manners but you know, it's so easy to forget. I'm Alpha... or well, I suppose you could call me lots of different things, but let's stick to that for now, shall we?" Even though the way he spoke seemed almost humorous, his voice lacked everything that implied. His gaze was the most serious he had ever seen.

"... Alpha?" He was getting his suspicions but he wasn't stupid enough to guess. Assumption was the mother of all fuck-ups.

Alpha nodded, coming closer, his hands neatly placed behind his back as though he was inspecting goods at a field. Every move he seemed to make appeared to be pre-planned and there was nothing to suggest that this man ever relaxed. Never smiled.

"I have the final information about Dollhouse," he said sternly.

"So you're another messenger, another body?"

Alpha slowly shook his head. "No. I'm the real deal."

Paul froze, staring at the man in a whole new light. So this was the man who had been helping him all of these years? The mysterious master behind the messages, the man holding all the strings, solutions to their common problem. Somehow, he wasn't comforted. His appearance after all these years made it all seem so final. He was impressed, excited and any fatigue he might've felt before disappeared in an instant. He would be ready to go to the end of the Earth now if it meant the dissolution of the Dollhouse.

"The day has come," Alpha said as though it was only a comment, to Paul it was the words of his liberation, "But we don't have a lot of time, so we must go now." There wasn't anything that indicated that they had time to waste. Paul checked his gun as the pair walked out of the apartment and shut the door behind him without looking back.

----------

When they arrived to the garage entry, Paul was about to pull out his gun but Alpha reached out and stopped him, looking at him seriously. "You won't need that," Surprised, Paul put the gun back. "There won't be much security stopping us."

Confused, Paul frowned. "I thought you said that the security inside is tight."

Alpha, for the first time, grinned. It wasn't an easy, simple grin but a cold, malicious grin that could give the toughest man shivers. The hatred glowing in this man's eyes sent even Paul into surprise. If it'd been personal to him, it was like an intimate personal insult to Alpha. Whatever the Dollhouse had done to him, he _hated_ them.

"The survivors will have much more to worry about than seeing who walks through the front doors," he said coldly and for the first time Paul considered that maybe he had gone a little bit over his head. Here he was, about to take down the origination that was responsible for destroying thousands of lives, but somehow it seemed like the biggest threat was standing right beside him.

"Survivors?"

Alpha shot him a dark look. "I've made preparations."

Somehow Paul didn't really like the sound of that.

They walked to the elevator and as the doors closed in front of them, Alpha looked straight ahead, completely focusing on what was to greet them when the doors opened again. Paul on the other hand couldn't shake loose the feeling that something was wrong. Or maybe it was just disbelief that suddenly the day had come when the humanity's biggest cancer would be terminated. Paul didn't know. And the unknowing disturbed him extremely. He could feel the awareness creep inside of him, the awareness that soon he would face the people responsible.

"Just so you know," Alpha said, pulling Paul from his doubts and back to reality. "There's only one rule when we walk through those doors."

"What's that?" Somehow Alpha didn't strike him as a man of principles.

"Caroline is not to be harmed under any circumstances. Everyone else are expendable."

The rest didn't matter.

"Why?"

Alpha didn't reply.

----------

The doors opened, and what Paul saw shocked him. The room inside lay in ruins, smoke and dust still lingering in the air from a recent blast and the smell of something burning assaulted his nostrils as he took his first step inside, stepping over some fallen concrete. When he looked up, Alpha was already several meters ahead of him.

"Remember," Alpha said as though he was still standing in the elevator and not in a room of mass destruction, "Everyone else are expendable. Shoot anything that moves, but don't kill them."

"Why?"

The sick glow in Alpha's eyes burned with an intensity that Paul had only seen in mad men. "Let's just say that they have debts to be repaid."

The hair on Paul's neck rose as his blood turned cold. Had he put all his faith in a lunatic? Regardless of his doubts, Paul pulled his gun. He had some business he had waited a long time to settle.

-------

What surprised him the most was there was barely anyone who put up a fight. What he guessed to be actives simply sat in the ruins, staring straight ahead or looking at him as though they waited for him to tell them what to do. The fear in their eyes were almost that of a child's. But as he climbed his way up the stairs, stepping over bricks, dust and bodies, he looked around, searching for somewhere to go. He needed to find someone to talk to.

As he reached the second floor, he could hear someone coughing a bit further away. Quietly, he listened and followed the source of the sound, finding a blonde man, white with dust, groaning and pulling himself out of the chaos. Immediately, Paul pulled his gun when he noticed that this wasn't an Active.

The terror lit up in the man's eyes and he shrugged back, putting his hands over his head. "Hey, hey, hey," he said quickly, his voice dripping of humor, fear and sarcasm. "Don't shoot me. Don't shoot me. I'm one of the good guys," he made an awkward, helpless attempt at a laughed and somehow he appeared to be somewhat of a douche.

"Somehow I seriously doubt that."

The guy gulped, staring intently at the gun pointed at his face.

"Take me to your superior," he continued, ordering the bruised man to stand up. Reluctantly but obediently, the guy stood up.

"If there's anything left of her," the guy commented again with a helpless attempt of humor.

"What's your name?"

"Topher."

"Topher, shut up."

He responded instantly.

With the gun never-wavering from the back of Topher's skull, the two slowly walked towards an office in the far end corner. Even that was in ruins and as they walked inside they didn't have to mind about a door since it had fallen off from the blast. Even if he hated these people and what they were doing, it seemed almost as though he was unnecessary. The destruction was total.

"What happened here?"

Topher's voice quivered in fear and apprehension, "A series of explosives were detonated approximately twenty minutes ago. I don't know how they managed to get through security but I guess that they were systematically smuggled into the facility or they were already in place when Alpha-"

"What did you say?" Topher spoke at such a pace that Paul was almost certain that he had misunderstood him.

"The explosives. I have no idea how they got here."

"Not that. What you were saying about Alpha."

"Alpha?" Somehow, the guy seemed almost more afraid than before. "He. What's there to say? He's... He's Alpha. Nothing more to it."

Paul pressed the gun against the back of Topher's head, hard. "What do you know about him?"

Topher's voice began talking in the same speed as his pulse - extremely fast. "H-he's one of our Actives. Or, he just to be until he went nuts and killed six Actives and two employees. T-then he escaped."

His suspicions were realized. And suddenly everything made so much sense. Except...

"What does he want with Caroline?"

"C-Caroline?"

"Brunette, very pretty Active with a mean right hook."

"E-Echo? W-well, I'm not sure," Topher drew for breath as Paul pressed the gun even closer to his head. He was pretty sure it hurt. "I t-t-t-think Alpha sort of has a thing for Echo. I mean, as much of a thing as an Active can have for another but now that you mention it-"

"I'm running out of patience, Topher. What makes you think that Alpha's got a thing for Echo?"

"He left her alive. T-the only one he spared."

He didn't know why, but an anger blossomed up inside of him. A fury that didn't have anything to do with the Dollhouse or bitterness or hate. An anger for letting his emotions cloud emotions. An anger entirely directed at himself. "Are you saying that the man I walked in with is going to try and murder every single one of you?"

"A-alpha's here?" Suddenly judging from the absolute terror in Topher's eyes, it suddenly seemed as though he wished he'd died in the blast.

Before Paul could reply, something moved in the debris. Someone coughed and out came a woman, very elegant, very poised. She had a cut on her forehead and when she looked up she seemed a little bit disoriented. "Topher? Is that you?"

Topher shot a glance at Paul before replying. "Yes."

"What happened?" the woman asked, as though she couldn't quite understand that the walls had caved in around her.

"Well," Topher said, not saying his eyes off Paul, "It would seem as though the house is under attack, madam."

The woman's gaze shot up instantly and even though she was still a bit dizzy, she seemed almost willing to destroy anything that came in her path. First now she seemed to notice the form standing behind her co-worker.

When she saw him, she sighed, almost as though she was relieved or that it had been expected. "So nice to finally meet you in person, Mr Ballard."

At the mention of his name, Paul twitched, now not certain if he should point the gun at Topher or this woman. It was difficult to make a proper assessment. The woman seemed smarter, stronger, but Topher was closer. Even a fool could overpower a giant if he came close enough. His momentarily wavering gun then finally settled on Topher. Just to be safe.

"You know who I am?" he asked, his eyes staring at the woman.

The red-headed woman almost seemed to smile. Almost. "Of course. I've been in charge to monitor your actions for quite some time now. I must say, your dedication is impressive. I would've hoped that your obsession would have ceased after you left the bureau but... you far surpassed by expectations."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Not really."

Suddenly Topher interrupted. "Miss DeWitt, I feel as though I should tell you - Alpha's here."

Within half a second, DeWitt's demeanor changed completely. Having appeared slightly calmer before, she now seemed to have completely lost that little piece of serenity she had been holding onto. She looked down at the ground in front of her for a moment and it seemed almost to be making a small prayer for her own survival as though the day of reckoning had come upon them all. Her expression lost all emotion and a graveness passed over her face like a dark shadow before she looked up again, staring straight at Paul.

"Well, it seems like I underestimated you, Mr. Ballard. You're even stupider than I imagined."

----------

"Why are you even here, Mr. Ballard? Don't you understand that all of this goes a little bit over your head by now? You clearly have no idea what you're dealing with..."

Topher crawled closer to her as though he expected her to cover any potential bullets she might conjure from her statement but the woman did her best not to notice. Instead she straight at Paul as though there really wasn't a gun between them.

"I know exactly what I'm doing," Paul retorted, "I know all about your organization. How you take people and... program them, turning them into slaves." Oh, how he despised them. All of them. And what they stood for.

"The process is entirely voluntary, I assure you. No one is here against their own will."

"They cannot possibly know what they're getting themselves into!" The anger boiled inside his veins and the gun shook as he tried to keep himself from shooting.

"We're not barbarians, Mr. Ballard. We have contracts signed. The Actives were perfectly aware of what they were surrendering when they agreed to participate in the process."

Paul tried his best to remain composed, biting his lip so hard he was quite sure he was bleeding.

"Mr. Ballard," DeWitt spoke again, "If this is about your brother, I am trul-"

"Don't talk to me as though you have any idea what I'm going through!"

DeWitt immediately silenced.

"What happened to Luke was a tragedy but my superiors cannot possibly be held responsible for what happened to him."

"If you say another word about Luke, I'll shoot your head off." He meant every word.

And this time, DeWitt didn't say else.

------------

**TBC.**

More will be written later. Feedback is the best candy/gift I could ever wish for, so if you feel generous, feel free to drop a line, saying what you truly think about it. Also, if you spot any mistakes (I bet there are a few!), please let me know. Also, I'm not entirely sure how many died in the Alpha attack, so my numbers when Topher mentioned that is probably wrong but... yeah. Enough of me babbling :)


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